You might as well take a razorto your pecker as let a woman in your heart. First they do the wash and then they kill you.They flash their lights and teach your wallet to puke. They bring it to you folded—if you see herstepping between the coin laundry and your building over the slushy street and watch the clothing steam, you can’t wait to open up the door when she putsthe stairs behind her and catch that warmth between you. It changes into a baby. “Here’s to the little shitter, the little linoleum lizard.” Once he peed on me when I was changing him—that one got a laugh from the characters I wasted all my chances with at Popeye’s establishment when it was over by the Wonderland. But it’s destroyednow and I understand one of those shopping malls that are like great monuments of blindness and folly stands there. And next door,the grimy restaurants of men with movies where they used to wear human faces,the sad people from space. But that was never me, because everything in those days depended on my work.“Listen, I’m going to work,” was all I could say, and drunk or sober I would put on the uniform of Texaco and wade into my life.I felt like a man of honor and substance,but the situation was dancing underneath me—once I walked into the living room at my sister’s and saw that the two of them, her and my sister, had turned sometime behind my back not exactly fatter, but heavy, or squalid, with cartoonsmoving across the television in front of them, surrounded by laundry, and a couple of Coca-Colas standing up next to the iron on the board. I stepped out into the yard of bricksand trash and watched the light lightup the blood inside each leaf,and I asked myself, Now what is the rpm on this mother? Where do you turn it on? I think you understand how I felt.I’m not saying everything changed in the space of one second of seeing two women, but I didstart dragging her into the clubs with me. I insisted she be sexy. I just wanted to live.And I did: some nights were sosensory I felt the starlight landing on my backand I believed I could set fire to things with my fingers—but the strategies of others broke my promise. At closing time once, she kept talking to a man when I was trying to catch her attention to leave.It was a Negro man, and I thought of black limousines and black masses and black hydrants filled with black water. When the lights came on you could see all kinds of intentions in the air. I thought I might smack her face, or spill a glass, but instead I opened him up with my red fishing knife and I took out his guts and I said, “Here they are, motherfucker, nigger, here they are.”There were people frozen around us. The lights had just come on. At that moment I saw her reading me and reading me from the end of the world where I saw her standing, and the way the sacred light played across her face all I can tell you is I had to be a diamond of ice to manage. Right down the middle from beginning to endmy life pours into one ocean: into this prison with its empty ballfield and its emptypreparations for Never Happen.If she ever comes to visit me, to hell with her, I won’t talk to her, and my son can entertain himself. God kill them both. I’m sorry for nothing. I’m just an alien from another planet.I am not happy. Disappointmentlights its stupid fire in my heart,but two days a week I staffthe Max Security laundry above the worldon the seventh level, looking at two long roads out there that go to a couple of towns.Young girls accelerating through the intersection make me want to live forever,they make me think of the grand things,of wars and extremely white, quiet light that never dies. Sometimes I stand against the window for hours tuned to every station at once, so loaded on crystal meth I believe I’ll drift out of my body.Jesus Christ, your doors close and open,you touch the maniac drifters, the fireaters, I could say a million things about youand never get that silence out of timethat happens when the blank muscle hangs between its beats—that is what I meanby darkness, the place where I kiss your mouth, where nothing bad has happened.I’m not anyone but I wish I could be told when you will come to save us. I have written several poems and several hymns, and one has been performed on the religiousultrahigh frequency station. And it goes like this.

was reading old chats from two years ago with gf and since i cant post the National Film Board of Canada shorts from like the 50's i was talking about i'll just post the chat excerpt

God this nfb short about fire prevention i just saw was amazing. its basically a short film noir about a fire inspector. He pretty much goes around (with hard boiled voice over) telling people they're idiots for causing a fire. I mean the advice is sound and all, but it's the way it's made. it's fucking great. He even slaps a woman screaming about her burning babies.

"somewhere in this province at this very instant someone's intelligence is on trial. Someone with a cluttered yards, a dirty basement, a warning received about faulty electrical wiring, someone with a home and family someone who reads fire prevention propaganda. At that trial, fire is the judge and jury. if you're guilty, you may burn."

that is the end monologue. Though they really should have said judge jury exetuctioner

(quote from a different film, this one about immigration)"3000 miles west the new world lies before them at last. How different are the rocky shores of Nova Scotia from their flat and cultivated Holland. How exciting too, especially for the children who HOPE TO SEE INDIANS SOON IN THE FORESTS JUST BEYOND HALIFAX"i cant stop watching these nowindians yes. How exotic. Only there for your amusement"oh look dear, an indian!""oh daddy can we get a gun please! please daddy please! so we can shoot them as cowboys would when they get near!""alright alright children, we'll see"